Dear, It's a Secret
by panneler-san
Summary: "That's a secret," he said. Granger said, "Fine. But tell me again why you're going on a business trip to Bulgaria?" He wasn't going to Bulgaria, but to St. Mungos. He was going for his last treatment before two of the promised three months he had left ended. And after that, there was no other way to save him. In a way, he was going to die. Draco smiled. "That's a secret, too."
1. One Mustn't Panic when Offered Sweets

**New story. I've wanted to do something like this for a long time, actually. Please support me!**

**I don't own HP at all.**

One Mustn't Panic when Offered Sweets

"Ah," murmured Draco, "Not another one."

The wand lay in ruins, the unicorn hair practically poking out of the hickory wood, which had shattered when it hit the desk. The Malfoy heir sighed, rubbed his eyes, and groaned. He glanced furtively out the window, and it was dark. Checking his watch told him the time.

"Two," he said to himself. "Merlin. It was only eleven just a minute ago…"

He stood up from the desk, grabbed his cloak, and contemplated the ruined wand once more.

"Can't be helped," he sighed, and swept the shards into the bin with a flick of his own wand. "Stupid hickory. The wood is too smooth."

He had dropped a wand once again, ruining the wood and core. How many times had it been now? The pale man tried to count on his fingers but soon lost interest. He would never sell a wand at this point.

The floo back to the family mansion took much longer than it normally did, or so he felt. Arriving with a swirl of green flames and a spinning head, he called out "I'm home," to no one in particular.

Narcissa Malfoy appeared before him, looking older but more peaceful than he had ever seen her. "Draco," she said suddenly, "When are you getting married?"

Draco sighed and stumbled out of the fireplace, bumping into the side of the hearth as he went. "Soon, mother. First I have to find a girl I like, then love her, then get her to love me, then go out with me, then propose, and then she has to agree to marry me. Two weeks, tops."

She snorted in a manner most unbecoming of her age. "Get married soon, okay? Find a girl or whatever. What happened to that Greengrass girl? She was lovely!"

"She was only interested in our fortune, after all," he said lightly, and stumbled a bit as he brushed off his clothes.

"Are you alright?" Narcissa asked, glaring at him. "You're tripping and falling all over the place these days."

Draco stood firmly and smiled weakly at her. "I'm tired, I've been working late. Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I was waiting for you," she informed him kindly. "Your father wanted a word with you but you took too long so he went to bed."

"What does he want?"

"Probably to bug you into getting a girlfriend."

"I can get married later, can't I?" he asked exasperatedly, kicking off his shiny black shoes. "I'm still in my youth – Twenty-eight! Mum, just let me get married at thirty, okay?"

Narcissa looked with obvious disdain upon his shoes, which were left lying in the hallway as he took off towards the main staircase. "If you're so old, clean up after yourself," she muttered. "I'll see you in the morning, Draco. Get some sleep. Merlin knows we can't have you stumbling all over when you see your father in the morning."

The pale man waved a hand behind him and yawned as he trudged up the steps to his room, jumping onto the comforter and falling asleep in moments.

Morning dawned an unpleasant shade of greyish pink and soft yellow that, when all mixed together, looked remarkably like a discolored bruise on the face of a rebellious adolescent. Lucius Malfoy seemed thoroughly affected by the day's lighting, and wore a facial expression to match it.

"Draco," he said sourly, "Sit."

He sat.

"You are no longer a child," he informed his adult son carefully, "And you must start thinking about with whom you shall raise a family and continue the Malfoy line and lineage. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Dad," Draco groaned.

"Do you?"

"I don't…"

"Good," said the Malfoy patriarch, arching one perfectly blonde eyebrow in a superior fashion. "Then your mother and I shall arrange a marriage for you." He snapped his fingers and an owl swooped over Draco's head. It landed on the shoulder of the older man and watched expectantly as he took out a perfect and unblemished sheet of parchment and readied a quill.

Draco blanched. "Oh, Merlin, dad, don't!" he cried, snatching the quill from his father's grasp.

The man peered up coldly with only his eyes. "Oh?"

"I'll find a girlfriend, okay?" said Draco. "What are you and mum thinking? You know how the last arranged marriage worked out for our family!"

Lucius suddenly grabbed the unoccupied end of the quill and used it to pull Draco's face mere inches from his own. "You have one year to get married," he warned in a low voice. "If you aren't engaged by this _exact day_ next year, I will be taking care of the responsibilities of selecting your family for you. Understand? Son?"

Draco gulped. "I understand."

Without further threats, he was released and kicked out of his father's office. Draco relaxed once the heavy oak doors shut in his face and stretched. "Thank Merlin that's over," he said.

He checked the grandfather clock in the main hall, and got ready for work. His mother gave him a pat on the back as he pulled on his shoes.

"Bye, mum," he said.

"Don't stay out too late today, all right?" she warned. "How did you sleep last night? Fully recovered?"

He flashed a smirk at her. "Of course. I'll see you after dinner!"

He sprinted out of the mansion, stumbling a bit over the threshold and grazing his shoulder against the doorframe as he left. Narcissa frowned after him.

Business at the wand shop was slow – the only customers that came in were an old man that had misplaced his wand and a young girl and her mother, who ended up not buying anything. Draco went back to making wands at lunch, and managed not to drop any. It was early evening when the bell to his shop sang out.

"One minute, please," he called, not bothering to look up. The integration of the Dragon Heartstring was almost complete. Finally, a small white glow surrounded the cherry wood, and faded away again. He smirked in satisfaction. He looked up. "What can I help you with, ma-"

He stopped in his tracks.

"Hello," said the customer nervously but determinedly.

Draco blinked and recovered. "Weasley. Welcome. What can I do for you?"

Ronald had grown taller still, older, ever, but he was unmistakably Ron. Still awkward. "Malfoy," he nodded courteously. "I heard you opened your own wand shop, finally. Congratulations. I thought I'd come in to get some repair work done."

The barely civil attitude was too much, Draco thought, but he held himself like an adult and nodded. "Of course. May I see?"

The unicorn hair was poking out of the top. Ron jumped from foot to foot sheepishly.

"Merlin's beard, Weasley," said Draco. "What have you been doing to this thing?"

"Um, well," Ron stuttered, "There was a slight…malfunction in the Healing room last week, and I didn't have time off until now, so it got pretty beat up…"

Draco pulled a soft-looking pair of beige gloves onto his hands. "Hand me the blue box under the desk, will you, Weasley?" he demanded-rather-than-asked.

Ron looked mildly annoyed, but did as he was told. Draco grabbed the bright silver powder inside and sprinkled just a bit onto the tip of the unicorn hair. After a while he sighed. Ron looked alarmed. "What is it?"

"See that?" Draco asked, pointing to the broken wand.

Ron squinted his eyes. "See what?"

"Exactly," the pale man answered. "If the unicorn hair was still in once piece, it would be functioning properly and there would be a purple glow. See the absence of a glow? The hair is fractured. It needs to be replaced."

"Entirely?" Ron looked surprised. "Can't you fix it?"

"I'll be honest, Weasley," said Draco, "The replacement hair is expensive enough. Fixing a fractured core takes longer and costs ten times as much. I would recommend buying a new wand altogether, but I'll let you decide."

Ron contemplated the news, and his brow knitted together as he thought furiously. Draco began tapping his foot impatiently. Ron finally said, "I guess… I'll get the fracture fixed after all," he said.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked. "It's expensive."

"I'm not poor anymore, Malfoy," he said. "I'm a Healer. I can afford it."

Draco looked uncertain, but smirked to hide his doubt. "It'll take a week to fix," he warned. "Stay here a minute – I'll go find a temporary replacement for you."

After shuffling around in the back of his store for a few minutes and making a tape measure Ron from head to toe, he finally brought out several different boxes.

"Try these out," he said. "It's a rental, so you'd better take good care of it. And, don't try any complicated magic."

The first one was the winner. Ron signed a parchment Draco provided for him and, after contemplating a good deal, shook hands. "In a week, then," said Ron.

Draco didn't miss the glimmer of an engagement ring on his finger.

"In a week."

… … …

"It's time for your check-up at St. Mungo's," Narcissa informed Draco at dinner. "I made an appointment for your day off at noon."

"It isn't time for a check-up," Draco said, frowning as he counted the months.

Narcissa sipped her water. "Well, I scheduled you for one, anyway," she said. "You've been a little unstable and lethargic lately, you know?"

He smirked. "Been watching your handsome son?"

"More like you've been begging for my attention."

His smirk grew. "Mum, I've been going to bed late and waking up early. Of course I'd be unstable. Besides, I feel fine, now. There isn't a need for me to get a check-up four months early." He reached forward with his fork, but almost as if he hadn't been gripping it tight enough, it slipped through his fingers.

Lucius looked up from his meal, and his mother froze.

"Well, now you've made me look like a wanker, mum," said Draco.

His father barely cracked a smile and resumed eating, stone-faced once more. Narcissa laughed. "You did that on purpose," she accused her son.

"I swear I didn't,"

"Then, go get the check-up. It'll make me feel more at ease, Draco."

"And get a girlfriend while you're at it," his father ordered gruffly.

… … …

Ronald Weasley was Draco's Healer, as it turned out. The two men regarded the other with surprise, and a civil but boring conversation followed.

"Why are you here?"

"A check-up. You?"

"I'm the Healer on duty, today."

"Oh."

"Hm."

The check-up was mostly painless. Draco thought it eternally awkward that he had to be shirtless in a room where Weasley was both fully clothed and listening to his heart with some sort of Muggle contraption.

"All right," Ron mumbled, surprisingly focused. "Then, that's good. Has anything been bothering you, lately?" He glanced at a short piece of parchment. "You're here five months early."

"Ah, that was my mum's doing," he admitted. "She wanted me to come in because I've been tired lately."

Ron paused, and turned to shuffle papers. "Any symptoms that come with being tired?"

Draco considered telling him and not telling him. Because it was Weasley, he wasn't sure, but if his mother had found out that his pride had stopped him from being completely examined, there would be hell to pay later on. His mum's future nagging won.

"I drop things," he said simply.

Ron paused again, and did not return to inconsequential parchment-shuffling.

Assuming he meant for him to go on, Draco continued. "And, I've been a bit unsteady on my feet, as well. I bump into walls when I'm not paying attention. I even fell down, last week. I'm tired a lot."

Ron still said nothing.

Draco blinked. "And, um," he said, "I guess…I get headaches every so often."

"Do you mind, Malfoy," Ron said suddenly, "If I run a few more tests?"

Draco didn't know if he minded or not. "What for?"

"Classification purposes, for your symptoms is all."

Draco agreed grudgingly. Ron got them started right away.

"I need you to balance on one foot for thirty seconds," he said.

Draco took of his shoes, as instructed, and lifted his left foot. He wobbled right. He wobbled left and back. "I hate balancing," he muttered. Next he balanced on the left foot, and struggled to not fall over.

Ron wrote something down hastily. He faced their chairs together. "Next, can you touch your nose and then the finger I'll hold out to you?"

Draco frowned. "This isn't a joke, is it?" he drawled. "Aren't these tests a bit daft?"

Ron only said, "Begin."

Draco tapped his nose. Ron held out his index finger and Draco touched it lightly. Back and forth and back and forth, between his own nose and Weasley's finger. Ron was beginning to look rather pleased.

Then he said, "Just a bit quicker, Malfoy."

Draco sped up immediately, and missed his nose on the first try, hitting his cheekbone instead. When he reached out to touch Ron's finger, he grazed the side of it, instead. Ron's pleased look had vanished.

After more seemingly nonsense tests, Ron promised to be back soon, drew some of Draco's blood, and left the room. The Malfoy heir sat for what seemed like hours, unaware of the conversation his new Healer was having with other working witches and wizards of his class. He only waited.

Finally, the door clicked, and in came Ron with a grim expression on his face. Draco stood.

"No, no, sit," said Ron, and pointed to the chair.

Draco sat, and Ron did also.

The red-headed young man sighed and folded his hands tightly together. "Malfoy," he asked suddenly, "Can you owl your legal guardian?"

"What's wrong with me?" he asked quietly.

Ron hesitated. "First, owl your guardian, and then-"

"I'm twenty-eight, already," he replied. "I'm my own guardian. Tell me. Am…am I…Am I sick?"

Ron looked seriously at him. "You have a rare, genetic disorder," he said. "It's a recessive trait, which means that you got it from both of your parents, who were only carriers."

"Genetic…disorder?" he asked. "But… I haven't always been like this. That's impossible."

"It often takes years for symptoms to start appearing," Ron informed him diplomatically. "You have what is called Wilson's Disease. It's, as I said, a rare genetic disorder in which copper builds up in the tissue of your liver and brain. Rather than being filtered out, as it should, the excess amount is going into your blood stream, which leads directly to your heart."

Draco sat back.

"You'll need to start treating this by making changes in your diet," said Ron. He began writing on a parchment. "Avoid foods like chocolate, nuts, seeds, and lobster. They're very high in copper. You don't want any more of it in your system, since it isn't getting back out."

Draco licked his lips. "It isn't…life threatening, is it?" he asked quietly.

Ron hesitated again. "Nothing is certain." He chose his words with great care.

"Weasley, cut out the vagueness and tell me the truth!" the Malfoy heir snapped.

Ron looked at him. "If you don't get a liver transplant soon," he said, "You'll die."

Draco stared at the wall.

"I can estimate maybe three months before things start to get bad. Get enough sleep, drink water often, and cut chocolate and nuts out of your diet entirely to slow down the process. Finding a liver donor is tricky, and it may take longer than three months." Ron paused, to let his patient soak it all in. "Start changing now, and you'll have a good chance. Make bi-weekly appointments at the front desk. You need to come in and be treated, stay at least three days each time. Understand?"

He heard everything. He saw Weasley say it. But he didn't understand. The same words kept ringing in his head, over and over.

_ If you don't get a liver transplant soon, you'll die._

_ You'll die._

When he got back home, his mother pestered him about getting married, and his father bugged him about continuing on the Malfoy line with a son or daughter. He didn't hear a word of it. After dinner, his mother brought out chocolates she claimed to have received from a friend who lived in Belgium.

Draco only stared at them.

"Ah, Draco, how did the check-up go?" his mother asked him.

He forced a smile. "Oh, fine."

"No problems, then?"

"It's just lethargy," he lied. "I need to sleep more."

His mother smiled and his father, although acting indifferent, gave himself away by sighing in relief.

Draco slowly reached out, picked a chocolate, and popped it into his mouth.

**Long chapter for me. I have a good feeling about this story. Please review if you feel so inclined!**

**Panneler-san**


	2. Reckless Vacations Result in Awkwardness

**This chapter is a bit draggy, I think, but it IS necessary. All the action starts in chapter three : ) I don't own Harry Potter, as usual. It hasn't changed or anything.**

Reckless Vacations Result in Awkwardness

Draco went back to his regular life. The very morning after hearing the news of his condition, he thought for several hours that perhaps it had all been a dream. Seeing the empty, discarded box of chocolates on his dresser reminded him that it was not.

A day passed. Two days. Time ticked by, faster and faster, and everything felt so unreal to him. He made no changes to his diet at all. He kept his condition a secret from everyone, because he himself didn't believe it. Nothing about his daily life changed. He even noticed that his hands had stopped being unsteady, and he didn't stumble or drop things.

Had this all been a huge joke, set up by Weasley?

Draco wouldn't put it past Ron to try and get revenge on him like this – but still, he was a Healer, and lying about a patient's condition would send him straight to Azkaban.

Draco ignored it.

He went back to making wands, fixing wands, selling wands, and marketing them. He worked like he wasn't sick, and he felt great. Eventually, a whole week passed, and the day for Ron to come in to retrieve his fixed wand came. Draco was just finishing infusing the mended unicorn hair into the wood when the bell to his shop rang.

"Hullo," Ron said, a bit nervously.

"Just a moment," said Draco. "Take a seat. I'm almost done, then you can test it out."

Ron sat on the chair in front of the desk Draco worked at. "I didn't mention this before," he said, "but you seem older. A lot older."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't act our age," he explained. "You act like a fifty year-old Muggle working at a boring Muggle job and making a below average salary."

"Don't get cocky just because Healing makes more than selling Wands," Draco warned.

"Really, Malfoy," said Ron. "It isn't any of my business, but what made you this way?"

Draco paused. "You're right. It isn't any of your business. Don't worry, it wasn't something dramatic."

"Will you share it with me?"

Draco shrugged and resumed his work. "Life caught up to me. You know, during the final battle of Hogwarts, when my parents and I switched sides…" He gulped. "I realized how much more…terrifying…being on the Dark Lord's side was than being on your side. Sixth year at Hogwarts, too, took off about thirty years of my life. I was so stressed the entire year that nothing good came of it. Crabb… Do you remember Crabb? At the very last moment before he… well, he turned on me. And I had honestly thought we were friends."

Ron listened, somewhat shocked, that Draco had disclosed all this information to him so easily. "Well, is that what made you like this?"

"Yes and no," said Draco. "If I had to sum it up, I'd say I was tired. Of everything."

_And I've stayed tired._

Ron's facial expressions seemed conflicted. He hesitated, and reached out a freckled hand. "Malfoy-"

"It's done," he interrupted, and promptly placed the wand in his fingers. "Try it out. See if it's fixed enough for you."

As Ron did some simple charm work, he slowly began to turn the conversation in a direction Draco has wished to avoid. "So, Malfoy," he said casually, "When are you coming in next? We should get started on treatments right away if we want to-"

"I'm not getting treated," said Draco.

Ron blinked. "You're not…What?"

The pale man began stacking boxes of wands on the shelves. "I'm not going through with the treatment."

Ron suddenly looked angry. "Why not?" he asked.

"Does it make sense that I'm sick?" Draco snapped. "Me? The heir to the Malfoy family? Don't you know what I still have to do before I die? I have to get married so I can have a child that can take over our family. I have to transfer all the fortune of my family and the Black's to a brand-new vault at Gringots – that alone will take years! I have to document the family history and somehow restore the burnt names on the family tapestry. I have to represent the Malfoy family at Pureblood conventions after my father passes away!"

Ron listened in silence.

Draco calmed down and took a silent breath. "Weasley," he said quietly, "If I get hospitalized now – even if it's only for three days every two weeks – I feel like I'll become a dying patent for real."

There was a brief silence. The two men stewed in the conversation until Ron finally spoke. "Malfoy," he whispered, "You're already a dying patient for real."

He breathed in sharply. "I just can't," he said. "Because of our past, as well-"

The red-headed man stood up with violent force and slammed his hands down on the desk, rattling the wand cores and wood on it. "Forget our past!" he yelled. "You listen here, Malfoy – We hated each other while we were at school, I don't deny it and neither do you! But that was _ten years_ ago! Things have changed! I'm trying to set aside our differences and help you, because right now _I_ am your Healer, _you_ are my patient, and I'll be _damned_ if I let you die on my watch!"

At that moment, something sparked inside of Draco. Suddenly everything was clear to him, and whatever past he and Weasley had shared was erased in the blink of an eye. The reality of his situation crashed all around him suddenly, and he understood that he wouldn't get to do anything if he didn't at least try to save himself.

"…Are we done here?" Ron asked.

Draco gulped. "Yeah. We're done."

Ron gathered up his cloak and headed for the door. "Come to the hospital on Friday at noon. That gives you plenty of time to accept your illness and prepare to change your lifestyle. Don't make me schedule your appointments from now on."

With a swoosh of his robes, a jingle from the shop bell, and a _pat_ of a door closing, Ron was gone. Draco stared after him. After a while, he smirked.

"Stupid prick didn't pay his bill."

… … …

The largest Wizard Library in the world was just a floo away, and the moment he got off work, Draco rushed to the fireplace.

"St. Clarissa!" he cried, and the green flames consumed him.

The library itself was massive; although underground like most wizard institutions, it had a natural light that flowed from the enchanted ceiling and made the place warm. Draco immediately took the lift to the seventh floor and approached the nearest librarian.

"Where can I find books about Wilson's disease?" he asked the small, older wizard.

The old man smiled in a confused manner and pointed to the left. "That would be in the non-magical disease section."

Draco blinked. "Non… Did you say non-magical?"

"Yes. It's rare among wizardkind. Why are you looking for-"

"Thank you," he said, and briskly retreated to the non-magical section of the health library. In ten minutes he had collected every single book on the subject (a grand total of four) and flipped through them furiously. He read and took notes, referencing his findings to the other books and pausing to think.

Finally, after hours and hours, he put his quill down and closed the final book.

"It's impossible," he whispered. "It's impossible."

_In terms of patient diversity, of course, it is a genetic recessive disorder that is not common among Muggles, but is even more uncommon among Witches and Wizards. The nature of Wilson's Disease is, in all actuality, a non-magical one. As water is more prone to boiling than solid rock, Muggles are more likely to be affected by non-magical ailments and Wizards are more likely to be affected by magical ones. Wilson's is rare among Wizards, which makes a liver transplant (if it is so necessary) a very unlikely treatment option for "lack of any bloody livers that match blood and body type, dammit!" (Parkinson, Healer M. 1857). Muggles, save the exception of Muggle-Born Witches and Wizards, do not have magic in their blood. Finding a donor is, in all respects, impossible._

"I want to live," he whispered.

His hand trembled on top of the closed book.

"I want to live!

_If you don't get a transplant soon, you'll die._

It was precisely because he hadn't gotten married, he hadn't produced an heir, his wand business hadn't become successful, and he hadn't satisfied his parents that he wanted to live.

He hadn't satisfied himself.

Merlin, what had he been doing all his life? He took orders from his father at a young age, was bred to hate others, was hounded to get better grades than his classmates, studied all his life, became a Death Eater at sixteen, lost all his friends at seventeen, immediately started working after school, failed in his business for ten years, never took a vacation, never did anything for himself, and he was never once happy.

It was there, in the deepest part of the largest Wizard Library in the world, after having read books that proclaimed the end of his life, that Draco Malfoy decided he was going to live.

… … …

"Mum, what do you want to do before you die?"

The question caught Narcissa quite off guard; she spat her tea back into her cup and all over the rug. Draco only watched in amusement. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "Before I die?" she asked.

The pale man waited in anticipation for her response.

"I want to go on a vacation!" she sighed wistfully. "And on that vacation, I want to buy every souvenir that I want, even when your father says I don't need it!"

She didn't stop there.

"And then, I want to eat all the food I've been avoiding because of my figure! I want to meet Ace from Wicked Wizards Generation X (I'll bet you never knew I was a fan) and get his autograph! After that I'd want to obey my every whim, no matter how silly and random it is, because I want to have no regrets when I pass on."

Draco listened in fascination. "No regrets," he repeated.

She shook her head. "None."

Draco poured her more tea. "No regrets…"

"But Draco, why are you asking such a specific question?"

Draco swallowed and concentrated on pouring the tea. "Actually, mum," he said quietly.

She blinked. "Yes?"

He couldn't look up at her. "Actually, I'm going to die."

She burst out laughing. The pale man's head jerked up sharply in surprise at his mother's outburst and didn't say a word – she did all the talking. "Draco, you do have a sense of humor that isn't centered around girls!" she giggled. "I bet you thought you could fool me! That's a good one, but I didn't buy it for a second, dear. Try harder next time, okay, love?"

He forced a delayed smile. "Yeah. D-darn, you guessed it."

Her laughter subsided with time, and Draco went up to his room and locked the door. It was unlike him, and entirely against his character, but Draco almost wished a certain wailing ghost could have comforted him, like she had long ago, as he cried his heart out.

_No regrets._

And he intended to have none.

… … …

_Weasley,_

_ I'm going to wait to do the first treatment, after all. I'll go through with it, don't worry, but first I want to go on a vacation. I read up about my condition at St. Clarissa's Library, and a liver transplant seems impossible. So, I at least want to do something for myself one last time, before I devote the remainder of my life to treatments and hospital stay that won't save me in the end. Please understand. I'll come in a week later than promised. Looks like you and I are going to have a very interesting new relationship, after all._

_ Best regards and former insults,_

_ Draco Malfoy_

_ (P.S. You owe me thirteen galleons and six sickles.)_

And with that, Draco Malfoy booked a space on the very next portkey leaving for Paris.

"No regrets," he told the rather confused witch sharing his trip. "I'm going to live that way, for the rest of my life."

"Okay, dear," said the witch, "But, do remember to get some sense by the time you turn thirty, hm?"

The Malfoy boy smiled at the strange woman and, as directed by a sudden urge, gave her a big, warm hug. "Have fun in Paris!" he advised her, and the portkey took off. There was a jerk and tugging behind his navel, a horrid spinning sensation, and Draco Malfoy appeared in France.

He bid goodbye to the Witch, who looked more perplexed than before, and hummed as he headed off at a brisk pace towards his family's summer villa. The house elves were rather surprised to see him, but were also delighted that they could work. After everything was situated at the villa, Draco went straight to see the sights.

He'd been to Paris many times before with his family, but only when he was much younger, and they hadn't gone touring at all. Now he marveled at the height of Notre Dame, the beauty of classic and modern paintings in Musée d'Orsay, and enjoyed every last bit of his lunch at a sidewalk café.

A Muggle tour guide had given him a pamphlet on the busiest tourist locations, and he studied it diligently. Almost a whole day had passed, and Draco sighed in bliss.

"As long as I'm going to die," he murmured to himself, "I might as well go out with a bang."

He sipped his coffee. He had accepted his fate, even though the thought of him dying still seemed a long ways off and impossible, but now he knew what he wanted to do.

"No regrets," he said again, and looked up at the sky. "All the things I wanted to do but never did…I'm going to do them." He sighed and smirked to himself. "Three months, huh? Merlin, that isn't very long! I'd best get started, then."

"Malfoy?"

He froze.

"Is that you, Malfoy?"

Draco turned around in his seat towards the rest of the outdoor seating at the café. He blinked. So did she.

"It _is_ you."

"Granger."

And so it was.

"What a…surprise. How long have you been behind me?"

Hermione Granger fiddled nervously with her cup and folded her napkin on her lap. "Since before you were here, I think," she answered slowly. "I didn't notice you until now."

They fell into a bout of awkward silence. Draco took the opportunity to look at her. "Ten years," he coughed out, "Made a bit of a difference."

She swallowed. "Yeah. You look different, too. You act different as well. You're more…polite."

He hardly believed he wasn't having a nightmare. "Well, that's because I'm not sure what to say," he admitted. "Have we grown out of childish insults and name-calling?"

She looked mildly surprised, but nodded. "I think so."

There was another silence. "Your hair's straight," he commented lamely. "Did it grow out like that?"

"Oh, no," she sputtered. "I'm using a product." They both gulped. "Did you stop slicking your hair back?"

"Not at all," he said. "I was rather busy this morning, so I didn't have time…"

"How are we supposed to talk to each other?" she asked suddenly.

He blinked. "Pardon?"

Hermione huffed and stood, striding over to his small table and taking the seat opposite his. He nearly stumbled backward at the sudden closeness. "We've got more bad history that good," she told him matter-of-factly, "And all of our teenage conversations ended with insults. We weren't on good terms then and I don't believe it's changed now. We're adults, Malfoy. It's been ten years. I suggest we just forget we ever knew each other and start anew. It'll be hard for both of us, but let's try it, okay?"

In his shock, he managed to stutter out an "Okay," without thinking.

Hermione smiled. "Good, then. Now let's stop all this awkwardness and have a real talk."

He nodded deftly.

Her straight-up attitude surprised him, and for one crazy moment he really thought that Granger meant to befriend him. As she talked about what she had been doing in the last ten years, he found his eyes constantly moving to look at her left hand, where a diamond engagement ring that looked remarkably like Ron's plain gold band rested, glittering, on her finger.

The only thing he could think of was how much he wished they hadn't met.

**So, I've come to the conclusion that for this story, Draco will just have to be a bit out of character. As I'm sure you've noticed, he isn't acting like himself at all. I apologize for that, but I do what must be done for the plot!**

** I would love it if you would review for me. Thank you in advance!**

**Panneler-san**


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